


A Touch of Velvet

by Bryonia_Alba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, VERY light bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 00:21:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10685922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bryonia_Alba/pseuds/Bryonia_Alba
Summary: Susan fulfils a promise to make a night at the opera worthwhile.





	A Touch of Velvet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for smutty_claus, 2006.

“Do we really have to go to this thing tonight?” Neville asked, not for the first time. He hated formal occasions; they always made him feel even clumsier and more awkward than usual. He also hated whinging, but felt he could make an exception this one time. “I didn’t know you even liked opera!”

Susan set a bowl of porridge in front of him, pressing a kiss on top of his head. She’d added extra raisins this morning, he saw.

“It’s not my favourite kind of music either,” she said, sitting at the breakfast table with her own bowl. “However, Gawain Robards is the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and he was the one who invited us and a few others. Private box seats, no less! I’m only one of his undersecretaries, so it’s actually quite an honour he’s even noticed my work. I’m not about to offend him.”

Neville picked up his spoon, stirring the raisins into his porridge. “I’m not afraid of offending him,” he muttered. “I’m afraid of embarrassing you. I don’t know how to talk to the sort of people who go to these events. I’m not witty, or charming, or particularly interesting. I’m used to dirt-stained garden aprons and potting soil under my nails and people who don’t mind if I’ve got smudges on my cheek. I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

Susan smiled, covering his hand with hers. “You wash up very nicely, as I well know. You won’t embarrass me, or yourself, and you’re very charming or else I wouldn’t have married you. I’ll make it worth your while, Neville. I promise.”

Neville added some honey to his tea. “Well, when you put it like that…”

“Wear the blue dress robes,” Susan said, picking up her own spoon. “It’s your best colour.”

~*~*~

Neville fidgeted with the high collar of his dress robes that evening while waiting for Susan to come downstairs. Looking into the foyer mirror, he smoothed back a wayward strand of hair.

“You look very nice, dear,” the mirror informed him. “Now stop fidgeting with the collar.”

It was easier said than done. The collar felt entirely too tight, even though his dress robes were in actuality a perfect fit. Neville clenched his hands into fists, struggling against the temptation to run his finger around his neck in hopes of loosening the constriction, and paced. He wondered what was taking his wife so long to get ready.

“What do you think?” Susan asked from behind.

Neville turned around and found himself at a complete and total loss for words. Susan looked every bit as beautiful as she had the day he married her. She wore a strapless, floor-length gown of dark blue velvet, bringing out the blue of her eyes and the gold highlights of her blonde hair, which was swept up in a sophisticated twist. The crowning touch was a pair of long white opera gloves, extending past her elbows like a second skin.

“I...You…” Neville took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. “You’ll be the most beautiful woman there,” he said honestly.

Susan blushed a becoming shade of pink, tucking her arm through his. “And you’ll be the most handsome man there,” she replied. “We’ll drive everyone else mad with jealousy!”

Neville wrapped an arm around Susan’s waist, closed his eyes, and concentrated on their destination.

The opera house was posh and glittering, with hangings of purple and gold brocade, plush velvet seats, and privacy screens in the box seats. Chandeliers sparkled overhead in an explosion of prismatic light and colour. The patrons glittered also, especially the women in their jewel-toned gowns and gems of every colour twinkling from wrist or throat.

Neville sipped at his flute of champagne, watching while members of the Wizarding world’s elite mixed and mingled, air-kissing cheeks and speaking of things in cultured voices of which he knew nothing, doing his best to fade into the background. It was nearly impossible to do so with Susan standing beside him outshining everyone else in attendance, so he smiled and nodded as she introduced him to this Ministry official and that lobbyist. He was relieved as the time for opening curtain approached and people left off their socialising in favour of finding their seats.

Susan linked her fingers through Neville’s as they sat down in the private box seat reserved for them. “You’re doing fine,” she assured him with a bright smile as the lights dimmed. “The worst is over. I doubt anyone will visit during the intermission.”

The opera was sung in Italian, which meant Neville couldn’t understand a single word, and it was too dark to read the libretto. The costumes were pretty, though, and the sets were imaginatively constructed. Susan seemed to be enjoying herself; however, Neville nodded off soon after the beginning of the fourth act.

He woke with a start an unknown time later. Onstage the heroine was dying (and taking a very long time about it), and there was a hand in his lap, unbuttoning his dress robes enough to slip inside to undo his trousers as well.

“Ssshhh…Pretend you’re watching.” Susan whispered beside him, her eyes watching the heroine’s seemingly endless demise. Her velvet-encased fingers closed around Neville’s cock, making him harden almost immediately. He had to bite down on his lower lip to keep from crying out and raising unwanted attention. The sensation was like nothing he’d ever experienced as Susan stroked him with practised familiarity, with a new and exciting twist.

The velvet was soft against Neville’s heated flesh, the nubby weave creating a silken friction that built with every sliding movement of Susan’s hand, with every expert turn of her wrist. Neville’s fingers tightened around the edge of his seat, sinking deep into the cushion, clinging hard enough to whiten his knuckles. His hips canted upward, giving Susan better access, wanting more of her touch as he thrust into her hand.

Her thumb brushed across the head, dampening the fabric with his precome as she flicked over his slit. Neville squeezed his eyes shut, breathing through his nose, fighting against his body’s headlong rush toward climax.

Applause erupted around them, sudden and unexpected. Susan immediately let go, and Neville found himself being tucked unceremoniously back into his trousers. He had just enough time to refasten everything and pull his clothing back into some semblance of order before the lights came up. Susan was on her feet beside him, clapping as loudly as everyone else while the performers took their bows, as though she hadn’t been touching Neville in a most intimate manner less than five minutes before. Neville thought he might have dreamed it all, if he wasn’t so uncomfortably hard.

“We’re leaving,” Neville growled into Susan’s ear, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Right. Now.”

They Apparated directly into the bedroom. Susan lifted her hand to Neville’s nape, pulling him down and kissing him with fierce abandon. Neville kissed her back with equal fervour, his hands on the small of her back, fumbling with the zipper of her gown. Neville’s mouth plundered hers as they undressed with frantic haste, his hands tangling in her hair, sending it cascading down her back as the pins holding it in place came free.

Neville lowered Susan onto the bed, stripping off the rest of their clothing, saving the opera gloves for last. Quickly, he wrapped one glove loosely around Susan’s wrists, tugging her arms up over her head.

She wriggled against him, smiling wickedly. “What do you have in mind for the other glove?” she asked, lifting her head to nip at his lower lip.

“A little taste of your own medicine,” Neville replied, his voice husky with anticipation.

Deliberately, making certain Susan was watching, he took his wand from his discarded clothing and cast a charm, resizing the glove so that it would fit over his larger hand. Giving her a smile fully as wicked as hers had been, he slid into bed, rolling on top of her.

His ungloved hand grazed along Susan’s waist and ribcage to cup a breast, smiling lazily as her head fell back against the pillow. Neville circled the nipple with his thumb, feeling it harden beneath the gentle caress.

Susan hummed deep in her throat as Neville lowered his head, stroking the nipple ever so lightly with the tip of his tongue before drawing it into his mouth and suckling. Susan let out a muted gasp, arching her back. Neville’s other hand drifted over her belly, keeping his touch light, teasing her with the smallest brushes of his velvet-clad fingertips before sliding them between her legs, seeking and finding the wetness he knew would be there.

“Oh god, Neville…” Susan murmured, spreading her legs. “Oh, Neville…”

He began stroking her folds with the gloved hand, feeling her become even wetter, dampness seeping through the rich fabric as he found her clit, circling it with his forefinger. Bending his head, Neville resumed licking and nibbling at Susan’s breasts, moving back and forth between them while the hand wearing the velvet glove continued teasing at her clit.

Susan went wild beneath him, her hips moving beneath Neville’s finger, still circling her clit in time with each swirl of his tongue over her nipple. Her breath sobbed in her throat, each panting gasp spurring him on. Neville felt her tense beneath him, trembling, until she shivered and cried out, her hips rocking against his hand as her climax played out.

Susan was flushed and warm, rosy with arousal as she came again, Neville’s name a drawn out moan from her lips. The velvet was soaked, clinging to Neville’s fingers.

Neville drew back, kneeling between Susan’s thighs, his cock nudging at her entrance before plunging deep inside. She surged against him, wrapping her legs around his waist as he braced himself above her, driving into her with deep, pounding thrusts. Susan draped her arms around the back of his neck, her wrists still loosely bound by the other glove, drawing him down to kiss him with mad abandon.

“Susan,” Neville gasped, rocking against her, every muscle taut. She flexed her hips, squeezing around him, and he was lost. Stiffening, he came with a shout, shuddering convulsively as he spurted into her depths.

Sliding from her, Neville stripped the glove from his hand before untying her wrists, pulling her against his chest. “Minx,” he said fondly.

Susan gave him a sated smile, her hand cupping his cheek. Neville turned, pressing a kiss to her palm.

“Told you I’d make it worth your while,” she said.

“More than worth my while,” Neville agreed. “When’s the next Ministry affair?”


End file.
